


The Rebel's Serenade

by UnkownAuthor



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexuality, Developing Friendships, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, The Tyranny of King Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:11:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14588730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnkownAuthor/pseuds/UnkownAuthor
Summary: Thoma Jefferson is blown away by Connor when he helped defeat the BlueCoats at the Gates of King Washington's Palace. Thomas is intrigued to know more of this Connor guy.





	1. Chapter 1

Stuck in the midst of battle, Jefferson hadn't had the chance to properly examine his surroundings. He knew that it was almost hopeless, that they would certainly die in front of this ugly temple to a corrupt king, and he was prepared. Not for death, despite the circumstances, but prepared to live his fullest, that he would have to be taken by poison or by age than by a blade on the field. Jefferson knew that he had to live, if only to see his men to safety, to know that one less family would weep for their fallen fathers, brothers, sons.

He was prepared.

He had accepted this a long time ago.

He was not prepared for the eagle that swooped past him, the shape changing into that of a man, taking down the Bluecoats with talons of steel. Jefferson staggered back, ducked an incoming blow from his current opponent, and watched in awe as the eagle-man circled and sliced through a wave of at least ten men, tomahawk glinting in the sunlight. What appeared to be a bear rippled around the man's skin and he leaned back with the bear before slamming it's mighty force against the ground. Men went flying as power rippled out.

It was terrifying but also the most fascinating thing Jefferson had ever seen. He was distracted momentarily before remembering his situation, and noticed the failed gunmen lay moaning on the ground, while his own men staggered dizzily to their feet.

"You!" he called, and the man twisted around to face him. "You! Can you perform such a feat again? Washington has us completely surrounded."

"I will hold off any reinforcements! You fight your way back to the main gate," replied the shapeshifter, his unnaturally vibrant blue eyes settling on Jefferson.

Jefferson shivered. They were captivating, peering from under the wolf-pelt hood. Perhaps the native man had European blood in him. Perhaps it was whatever magic that he had summoned with his animals for Jefferson could not see the whites of the shapeshifter's eyes. Nodding obediently, Jefferson called for his men to fall back. He heard rather than saw the shapeshifter dive onto the snipers that Washington had sent out. The men fought viciously to stop the shapeshifter but the bear growled again and slammed their bodies into lifeless corpses.

A bullet whizzed past Jefferson's ear. More snipers. Marking them out, the eagle crossed the gap easily. Footwork thudded across the guardhouse above them, and a sniper hit the ground in front of Jefferson, colliding with another Bluecoat. A gasp slipped his lips - the shapeshifter had brute strength and accuracy. He huddled with the rest of his men, waiting, fighting, defending.

The native man was skilled. Very skilled. An intellectual fighter with eyes that said, "Do not betray me. I am not a creature of burden but a man worthy of equality."

Moments later the pyramid entrances crashed down in a haze of sandstone dust, ropes, and scaffolding. The bear shape had returned, wreaking such stunning destruction that it struck fear into all that saw it. A Bluecoat preoccupied Jefferson, so he did not see the exit being thrown open.

The screech of metal being torn and flung away signalled freedom.

"Retreat! Retreat!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

His men raced past, clutching their rifles and slinging collections of their opponents' armoury over their shoulders. As they ran, he counted them off, doing a quick total headcount. Only a few failed to raise themselves from the blue ocean. Their mistake hadn't cost them too dearly, if only because of the shapeshifter that approached him now.

"You've saved my men. We must all scatter and disappear into the city. Who are you?" said Jefferson.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," replied the man, tilting his head to one side, those bright eyes flicking over every inch of Jefferson's body.

The name rolled off the tongue like music. Ratonhnhaké:ton, Ratonhnhaké:ton - Jefferson swore to remember it. He took the slowly offered hand, shaking it, noticing the reluctance with which it was offered. Clearly Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't like touch. Or maybe he didn't like white men.

"A pleasure, sir," Jefferson said warmly and with such genuine emotion that the other man seemed startled.

Jefferson saw no reason not to praise Ratonhnhaké:ton - he had saved their lives. It was not an exaggeration. They needed more men like him, although Jefferson doubted many could refine themselves that beautifully. Every inch of the man exposed showed muscle, carefully corded from years of experience, scarred with only a few bullet wounds.

"We will meet later and plan our next move," Jefferson continued.

If Ratonhnhaké:ton decided not to show, Jefferson would understand. It didn't seem likely that he would turn up; the man had another agenda, another purpose to being here, and helping Jefferson had merely been a coincidence of place.

Ratonhnhaké:ton shrugged and changed into an eagle once more, leaving Jefferson.

Such ability was unique. Jefferson didn't allow himself to gawp this time, however, and started running towards the city, hoping to hide somewhere in one of the safe areas away from the guards who would inevitably searching for them.

"Please," he muttered. "Please, I would like to know more about you."


	2. Chapter 2

The alley was secluded, opening into a small collection of connected backyards, shaded from the sun. Jefferson leaned against a tree and waited. After an hour, his heart faltered, and he wondered if Ratonhnhaké:ton would appear. He comforted his anxiety by telling himself that Ratonhnhaké:ton must have been caught up in a fight. Four more hours passed and Jefferson had resigned himself to going back to his safehouse to meet with his fellow rebels.

The next day, he went back and stood in the same alley, this time taking a slender pamphlet that Washington's men had been distributing in order to study it. Unsurprisingly it was full of lies and madness. Jefferson sighed - a heavy weight sat on his heart, a pain resulting from witnessing his dear friend slide into corruption. It was ugly, made Washington ugly, and Jefferson thrice damned the artefact that had been the source of the tyranny. Jefferson did not have much of a choice; stay and be put in prison for defying the power of the Apple, or flee and plan to destroy the source in the hopes that Washington would recover.

He waited through that hot day, and the next, and the next, until a week had passed and Jefferson had given up. Ratonhnhaké:ton was not coming to meet him. In the meantime the rebels had been making noise and destroying statues as best they could but there was little they could do. There had been a success in the markets, but food was scarce, even on the cart they had raided. There hadn't been enough for more than a few families.

Today was the final day he would and could wait. To spend so long away from the rebels was fatal. He needed to rely on another plan. Sighing, and putting his book in his coat-pocket (it had become a habit), Jefferson made to leave when a shadow flitted over the courtyard.

Ratonhnhaké:ton landed next to a clothesline, ducking underneath it to peer at Jefferson.

"You are persistent," he said.

"We need men like you," said Jefferson. "Of course I am."

The shapeshifter stalked across the yard, every part of him primed for action, eyes sliding from side to side, a rim of amber flickering at the edge of his irises. It dissipated, leaving only those rather large and strangely innocent eyes behind. Ratonhnhaké:ton visibly loosened, shoulders relaxing, and again Jefferson was fascinated by the animal-like grace that this man possessed.

"You waited for seven days. Why?," asked Ratonhnhaké:ton.

"Well, sir, I have never seen anything like what you did back there. A resourceful man like yourself could easily help the people," said Jefferson.

He almost raised his hand to clap Ratonhnhaké:ton on the shoulder, but he remembered in time to restrain himself. One of the books he had been skimming (a paper by William Johnson, a fascinating and detailed essay) had noted the specific lack of physical touch unless it was between those who knew each other well. Ratonhnhaké:ton's expression shifted into annoyance. Ah, had he offended by not following through?

"My goal is to take Washington down. The rest is none of my concern."

Oh. Stubborn man. No cultural offense, then, merely vitriolic passion.

"You will require the support of the people to do that," replied Jefferson.

Displeasure plucked at Ratonhnhaké:ton's lips and he shifted his weight. Jefferson could almost see the decisions and indecisions upon the native man's face. Finally, he moved forward a step, putting himself within easy range of Jefferson and making them look like two men talking rather than two men eyeing each other off in distrust.

"How?"

"Feed them," said Jefferson. "Feed them and they will be loyal. The food is controlled by John Fitzwilliams. He is the most corrupt official in a city filled with corruption."

Eyes narrowing, hand shifting to grip the handle of his sharp tomahawk, Ratonhnhaké:ton said, "Show me to him and I will find his storehouse."

***

"Where will you stay?" asked Jefferson, handing out food.

Aloof as always, Ratonhnhaké:ton took his time to reply. While he held a crate of pears and other fruit it was extended in front of him, pushing it as far away from his body as he could. Occasionally a hand or an arm would brush against his skin. Jefferson noted that his mouth would thin, irritated.

"I have been sleeping in a cellar not far from here."

Horrified by the thought, Jefferson let out a cry of shock. Cellars were nasty, cold things. They were never quite warm enough to provide comfort and had a sickly dampness that could only be purged from the body by soaking in the sun. And to be so exposed! It was a wonder that Ratonhnhaké:ton hadn't died of a cold in winter with so scant an amount of clothing on.

"Absolutely not. Tonight you stay with me," declared Jefferson.

"I must bring down Washington," protested Ratonhnhaké:ton.

"You must rest. As far as I know, you have not taken a chance to do so since you landed in New York."

Ratonhnhaké:ton tilted his head forward, hiding one of his eyes. The food cart was almost empty, the people swarming around them to divide up their share. Seeing that his stock was almost vanished, he picked two out, balancing the crate as he offered a pear to Jefferson.

"You have not taken the chance to eat since this morning," countered Ratonhnhaké:ton. "We have stood here for many hours."

"You would make a good politician," laughed Jefferson, accepting the fruit and biting into the soft, tangy flesh.

"I do not think they would take kindly to an educated redskin. That is what the Colonists call us, is it not?"

"Regardless, you are good with words," said Jefferson.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was silent, focusing on stopping the pear juice from dripping down his chin. Jefferson shrugged and was about to turn to guide his companion back to the rebel's safehouse when the man spoke with an aching grief in his shoulders and tone, "Words are the only weapons we have against you, in the end."

Then he touched Jefferson on the elbow, possibly to break them from the melancholy, but also very truthful mood they had settled into. Jefferson filed the words away in his mind for later. Maybe he had been too harsh to judge the native people of this land. Maybe the Colonists were the savages.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

***

Fingers brushed his brow startling Jefferson awake. Ratonhnhaké:ton stepped back, looking for all the world that he hadn't done anything. His immaculate black hair was brushed into a neat ponytail, and a small braid displayed the beads of Ratonhnhaké:ton's clan. Vaguely Jefferson realised that this was the first time he had seen Ratonhnhaké:ton without his hood on, but he didn't put his finger on the fact until much later.

He was entirely composed and tidied, whereas Jefferson had fallen asleep in his clothes; his coat was rumpled, face bearing fabric lines from where he had pressed into his pillow. Wisps of red hair had fallen from his navy ribbon, and he sat up, untying it to attempt to neaten the ponytail.

While he did so, Ratonhnhaké:ton turned to the fire where a pot of porridge was cooking, and stirred it to ensure it wasn't burning. The earthy smell of the oats drifted in a cloud of warmth through the room. The pot was too big for two people alone when Jefferson noticed a few of his comrades had slipped in during the night to rest. Some of them were waking at the welcome scent that lingered, rubbing their sleepy eyes and pulling on their bright red coats. It was becoming more risky for them to wear such a uniform - perhaps he should revert to armbands. It would be less obvious.

Ratonhnhaké:ton took the pot off the fire and set it on their rough table. Bowls were set next to it, and he liberally served out portions for the men that quietly assembled around him, murmuring in the quiet of the morning. Jefferson drifted off, dozing, tipping sideways into his bed again, hair abandoned.

Some of his men snickered, the soft laughter waking him, and he forced himself to get up to sit at the table. Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled (at least, Jefferson thought his smiled. Did a quirk of the lips count?) and placed a bowl in front of him.

"Is that your natural hair? Or an unusually coloured wig?" asked Ratonhnhaké:ton.

"It is natural," he mumbled.

"Why the ridiculous curls?"

Jefferson gave him a weary look.

"It was the fashion at the time, and I've never been bothered to change it. Thank you for breakfast, by the way."

Now Ratonhnhaké:ton had definitely smiled, tilting his head to one side.

"It is very messy."

"You really don't hold back, do you?" said Jefferson. "It'll be tidy before we leave."

All through breakfast, he felt Ratonhnhaké:ton's eyes on him. More specifically, his hair. Despite their previous co-operation, Jefferson found himself slightly irritated by the attention. What did it matter if his hair was red? Washington had even more vibrant hair in his youth, it wasn't as if the colour was ridiculously rare, simply uncommon. His irritation came to a halt when he realised that he had not given Ratonhnhaké:ton the same rights that he wanted: he had not looked away for one moment unless it was absolutely necessary.

Quickly, Jefferson lowered his eyes and finished his meal. So absorbed was he in actively not looking at Ratonhnhaké:ton that he didn't notice the man stand up, dump his empty bowl in a wash bucket, and pick up Jefferson's abandoned ribbon. He jumped when one large hand pressed the strip of fabric into his own. Going to stand, he felt the other hand sit him back down, applying pressure to his shoulder.

"Do not worry if you fall asleep," said Ratonhnhaké:ton. "I will not snap your neck if you do."

"A comfort," Jefferson murmured, tilting his head back to stare at Ratonhnhaké:ton's face.

It was tilted back down, his men surprised by the interactions. Jefferson was not about to stop Ratonhnhaké:ton (not that he could if he wanted) and if the man wanted to play with his hair, then he would let him play. Risking their alliance over something as stupid as hair was not worth it. Inside, Jefferson felt honoured. He wondered how many people had been on the receiving end of Ratonhnhaké:ton's hair grooming. Was it a reserved activity or did he just find untidy hair particularly annoying?

"Thank you, I am sure you will do a much nicer job than me," said Jefferson, slurring his words as drowsiness set in.

It felt so good, so relaxing, and with a belly of porridge, Jefferson quite fell asleep again, head rolling back to rest on Ratonhnhaké:ton's stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

The news of Revere's disappearance came as a blow to morale amongst the rebels. The news of Paul's wife and child going missing as well was a personal disturbance to Jefferson. Paul had been a good friend. They'd eaten together, worked together, fought together - there was enough blood spilt and mingled between them that they could have been blood related. While Paul's outgoing and noisy personality was off putting at times, it was made up in his enthusiasm and passion for life. He wondered if the family were being kept together, if they were alive even. In times like these, there was little chance to recover their bodies let alone their lives.

There was no time for mourning, not for Paul nor for his gentle, calm, and collected wife who was able to control her boys with a single look, nor his son, life cut short.

The informant had a slouch in his posture. Paul had been liked well enough and it was a sadness for them all. Jefferson patted the man on the back and invited him to rest.

When Ratonhnhaké:ton entered the safehouse that evening, he brought fresh meat - rabbits, he explained, from the outer edge of the city. Jefferson had made scarce response, devoting himself to paperwork and maps. Finally forced to open up, he admitted the tragedy, watched the conflict upon Ratonhnhaké:ton's face, and turned to his plans again. He didn't want to be distracted. Perhaps Paul's disappearance had to do with Jefferson's impious affections towards cultivating those impure thoughts glorifying Ratonhnhaké:ton.

No. No, they were not. They only sought to state the truth. The truth was that Ratonhnhaké:ton was a handsome man, and kind too once the layers of bull-headed focus were scratched away. Jefferson sensed that this war had changed something in Ratonhnhaké:ton and he regretted not having met him prior. His thoughts were not impure. They did not linger on the shape of his lips or the dark brown of his nipples that were occasionally (and cruelly) exposed, nor the sky blue that radiated from his eyes. And they did not dare wonder at those shapely legs and fine waist, his hips hugged by furs and leathers and broad crimson sashes. Jefferson forced them down. He was simply admiring something to be striven for in his own body.

"I am sorry," said Ratonhnhaké:ton.

"Revere was an able and valuable man," murmured Jefferson. "He was endeavouring to loosen the Bluecoat grip on the city. Neighborhood by neighborhood, he was winning the people's trust and support."

Yes, Paul had been well liked. And it was Jefferson's fault for not providing more protection for the man the people had placed their faith in. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Their rebellion was fading.

"I can do it."

"Pardon, sir?"

"I said, I can continue Revere's work," repeated Ratonhnhaké:ton, dragging a chair out to sit opposite. His body had coiled in it's eager intensity, waiting to be released. "If the citizens fight for us, we will replace Washington with a new leader."

"The people do not need another leader," said Jefferson.

"I do not understand."

"This country must be led by the people."

Ratonhnhaké:ton leaned back, his chair creaking with the change of weight. During the time it took, Jefferson thought it might crack and fall apart underneath Ratonhnhaké:ton. It held, fortunately, and Ratonhnhaké:ton tilted his head - Jefferson wasn't sure whether it was a more avian or canine tic - to consider what had been said. This slow contemplation wasn't from a lack of wit, quite the opposite, but allowed Ratonhnhaké:ton to carefully examine his thoughts in the relative protection of the safehouse. He wasn't being forced to make a quick decision as in most of his combat situations.

"What would you have me do?"

Jefferson smiled to himself. There was only one thing that could be done. He had not been previously privileged to issue this order, but it was clear now that Revere's work was done - his capture had signalled and broken something. No more peace.

He looked to the man in front of him, stared deep into those eyes, and did not flinch, blink, or otherwise indicate his passivity. Something changed in those eyes as he stared, a tightening of the lips, and they found themselves leaning in, a mutual knowledge of what had to be done next. Ratonhnhaké:ton respected him, a grim baring of his teeth in what one could call a smile, if one regularly enjoyed the company of vicious men and animals. Under the table their knees bumped together.

"Cry 'Havock!' and let slip the hounds of war."

***  
Still fuelled by the energy of his adrenaline, Ratonhnhaké:ton was not quiet when he returned to the courtyard where Jefferson had first waited for him. He growled when he discovered that the man in question was not there. To him this man was infuriatingly intriguing. To be met with respect from Jefferson without having to ask for it, wrestle it and pin it, without having to point out the many successes he had made in the name of the patriots, now the rebels, was strange and alien. Scrambling into a tree, Ratonhnhaké:ton perched and waited for the fire-haired man, his informal commander.

***  
When he finally managed to shake his Bluecoat tails, Jefferson was not surprised to find Ratonhnhaké:ton up high in their meeting place. The way the man lounged was obscene - hips jerked up slightly due to the branch's curvature, languid like a lion or a panther, feet bracing him against any gusts of wind. Always alert, though, never for a moment letting himself be distracted. Jefferson felt like prey.

Ratonhnhaké:ton slid down from the tree, his beaded belt flipping up with the momentum. He grabbed Jefferson by the upper arm and pulled him behind the tree, into a haystack. Pinning him there, a hand over the slighter man's mouth, Ratonhnhaké:ton listened as footsteps ran by. Heart pounding, Jefferson tried not to struggle against Ratonhnhaké:ton, an adrenaline shock from the realisation of how close they were to danger.

"You are late and you brought trouble," huffed Ratonhnhaké:ton.

Jefferson grumbled against the hand, eyes narrowing. His skin was flushed, warm from the smothering air in the haystack, and he was finding it hard to breathe. Wriggling, he tried to communicate his needs, but found himself trapped with a leg thrown over his waist to stop him from moving. After some effort he slid a hand free to clutch at Ratonhnhaké:ton's wrist. Even the stale air was better than nothing, and he gasped it in as quietly as he could.

That was when he realised how close they were.

"Not my fault. I did my best to lose them," protested Jefferson.

Ah, that was quite-

"Not good enough, evidently."

-oh. Another spot of colour rose to Jefferson's cheeks, quite unrelated to the heat. He had heard that the natives of this land could be quite large and strong in physical appearance. But this-

"Maybe they saw you," teased Jefferson.

Ratonhnhaké:ton shifted closer. Normally, at this point Jefferson would point out that he couldn't hear any other Bluecoats coming through and that they should move on. Normally, at this point, he wasn't being kept cuddle captive by a six foot three native that could tear him apart if he chose to. Instead, said native man had pulled him very close, enveloping Jefferson with safe, nice arms and the bulge of his flaccid manhood pressed against Jefferson's thigh.

At Jefferson's remark, Ratonhnhaké:ton tugged a lock of red hair.

"They have left," Jefferson pointed out.

"I know."

"Then why-"

He made a noise of surprise as Ratonhnhaké:ton pecked him on the cheek, before untangling himself from their awkward positions.

"I trust you," said Ratonhnhaké:ton, and Jefferson swore he saw a mischievous glint in the man's eye, a tiny smirk to emphasise it. "Come along."

Jefferson lay there for a few seconds, dazed by the amount of sensory input Ratonhnhaké:ton had lavished upon him. He knew he should be disgusted but it was just a kiss. Innocent. He spluttered for a moment, brain trying to catch up, then rolled out of the haystack.

Damn Ratonhnhaké:ton and his quiet charisma that snuck up on you and held you like the maws of a bear trap.

Focus!

This was for Paul, for the innocents murdered, for a world that did not deserve insanity. There was no time to wonder what these touches meant from this man he chose to admire. There was a signal to be lit and a rebellion to come to its close. Jefferson knew that it would not be him to confront Washington, to remove the source of power, but the shapeshifter that was now waiting for his instructions.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was only being friendly to secure their alliance. Why else would he be so gentle towards him? Jefferson closed his eyes and shook his head, and web that didn't clear his mind, he pressed his palms over his eyes. When he opened them, Ratonhnhaké:ton had his arm raised to touch Jefferson's shoulder but pulled away at the last moment.

Jefferson reached out instead, patting Ratonhnhaké:ton's forearm reassuringly.

"The people are ready and the signal has been prepared. My man at the military will help you," he said.

Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't pull away. He stepped closer, picking some hay from Jefferson's hair.

"It is the beginning of the revolution," he said, and bent to kiss Jefferson on the lips.

Tilting his head back, Jefferson accepted it, eyes staying open even as Ratonhnhaké:ton's closed in sadness. Jefferson had the overwhelming feeling that he might never see this man again. They broke away, Jefferson to continue staring at Ratonhnhaké:ton, a hand raised to touch his lips. Not alone. They would never see each other alone again.

"When this madness is over, I want you to find me," said Jefferson. "Please."

"I will try, although you may not remember what has happened," promised Ratonhnhaké:ton.

"I am sure I will."

Jefferson clapped Ratonhnhaké:ton on the back and watched as he flew away, waiting for the explosion down by the fort, gathering his men for the final fight.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was high, crickets chirping loudly in the heat of summer. Martha kept herself inside, in the cool of the study, windows thrown open in the hopes of catching even the smallest breeze. She couldn't focus on her book, unable to sit comfortably, and her gaze kept drifting to the fields outside. The workers were in the shade, sleeping off the hottest part of the day.

From the forest a man emerged on horseback. Martha perked up, squinting against the glare of the sun against the fields. The horse was well groomed - Martha could see the lustre of it's fine coat even from this far. The man was in a white and blue coat, but it was difficult to tell who he was. Martha was quite sure that she had never met him before but something seemed familiar about his noble posture and hood. Despite her chronic illness, her eyesight was still sharp.

As the horse drew closer, it became evident that this man was a native. His handsome jaw caught Martha's attention first, then the armbands and other symbols of his people. And then she remembered where she had seen him; on a cancelled wanted poster that Thomas had brought home not long ago. He'd been quite frazzled by his last trip to New York, wandering the house in the middle of the night, or losing his concentration in the middle of a conversation. It worried her to see him like this, which he did not want for fear of damaging her already delicate health.

The native man hitched his horse under a tree and slung a bag of feed over a low branch with a trough of water. With nothing better to do, Martha decided to see what the man wanted herself. Let the maids rest a bit longer with their late luncheon, she was the lady of the house and she would give this man her respect, native or not. The gentle rapping of the doorknocker surprised her - the stranger was large and she hadn't expected a high level of motor skills.

When she opened it, Martha had a proper look at the man. Immediately his fine features stood out to her. The high cheekbones, pensive eyes, and full lips were all part of a greater whole that made up a remarkable face. He was really quite pretty, she mused.

"Good day, sir. My name is Martha Jefferson. What may I do for you?" she greeted.

"I am looking for Mister Thomas Jefferson," he said, and good lord his voice was exquisite. "My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"Well, Radonhakehton, my husband is in town but he'll be back by this afternoon if you'd care to wait. I apologise in advance for mangling your name. My French teacher always said I had a lazy tongue." She smiled, hoping to ease the serious face from the young man. While he didn't smile as broadly as she had hoped at her little joke, he did let out a huff of laughter. "Well, come in from the heat and get that coat off. It makes the heat worse just staring at it. And weapons by the door, please."

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, pushed his hood off and removed his weapons, laying them on the sideboard by the door gently so he didn't chip the lacquer. Well he certainly was prepared with all of those knives and guns and even a bow! Martha wasn't sure if she'd ever seen such an armoury on one person before. She watched in fascination as his holsters and bracers were unbuckled, finally leaving the man in only his clothes.

"You must be a well-respected warrior of your people," said Martha.

"I do not know if well-respected is the right word for it," replied Ratonhnhaké:ton. "I am sure there would be a few that would dearly love to see me fail."

"Jealousy, my dear. Now, I have one last request and that's to remove your boots. Thomas upsets the maids so when he tramps mud into the study. It's terribly sticky stuff and the carpets have borne the brunt."

She left him to undo those alarmingly high boots, the leather coming well over his knees and asked for some fresh lemonade to be brought into the parlour. When she returned, she found the native had carefully leant his boots against the others in the hall and was patiently waiting for her.

"Mrs Jefferson, I would not want to be a bother-" he began, and his expression was so heartfelt and genuine that Martha had to interrupt.

"No, Rad- Ratonhnhaké:ton, it is no trouble. Any friend of Thomas is a friend of mine, and I would so love for some news from New York. Thomas has not been back lately and I only have some of the other wives to exchange letters with and Lady Washington does tend to go on a bit about her orchard. Now come, into the parlour with you and we shall watch for Thomas together."

He clutched at the bundle of fabric that was his coat and obediently followed her, hugging it to his chest. Awkwardly he sat, looking about the room until one of the girls brought a tray in with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. Then he relented clutching at his coat and held the glass with both hands instead.

"How do you know my husband?" asked Martha.

Ratonhnhaké:ton gave her a wry smile.

"We have fought together."

He sipped at his drink, his eyes widened (and Martha realised belatedly that this may have been the first time he had tasted lemonade), and he sipped again.

"This is nice. Thank you," he said, setting the glass down.

They sat there, Ratonhnhaké:ton staring at the books on the shelf, then to the portraits on the wall.

"I am afraid I do not have much to tell you," he said. "They are making good progress on recovering the shipyard where the fire was a year and a half ago. And the ruins are being cleared out for new houses. It seems to me that New York is a city that enjoys being on fire."

His grip loosened on his coat, and he let it rest on his lap. His white waistcoat almost blended with his shirt, the collar undone, revealing defined collarbones and a length of neck barely obscured by an unusual necklace. Martha thought his attire was all rather scandalous - he was almost naked in this state!

"Well, it is rather dense," agreed Martha.

That was all that was needed to break the ice. They chatted amicably after that, until the sound of an approaching horse made them turn their heads. Martha got up to bustle to the front door to greet her husband. Their voices spilled into the parlour.

"Martha, dearest, why is there a small armoury at the front door?" asked Jefferson as he stepped in.

"We have a guest," replied Martha.

She looked back to the parlour where Ratonhnhaké:ton emerged, pulling his coat back on.

"Oh," murmured Jefferson. "You're the man in the white hood."

He fainted.

***  
"Honestly, Martha, I am quite alright my love. I do not know what came over me but I assure you I am fine," said Jefferson.

He glanced at Ratonhnhaké:ton, unsure of what to do next. George had shown Jefferson the artefact before he had taken off to find Ratonhnhaké:ton. The visions that came after were horrible, forcing Jefferson to flee New York for the time being. But there had been some pleasant ones - mostly with the man currently sitting as primly as he could on a chair that was too small for him.

"What do we do? I promised you."

Jefferson thought for a moment, staring at the beautiful face unmarked by the powers of the Red Willow. His eyes were different, a deep hazel-brown, but equally as captivating as the blue.

"I will talk to Martha. Did you find her likeable?" asked Jefferson.

"Yes, she was polite and intelligent. She didn't seem to mind my heritage," said Ratonhnhaké:ton.

He squirmed, uncomfortable about something other than the chair.

"What is wrong?"

"You keep slaves," said Ratonhnhaké:ton, and Jefferson's heart sank.

"They are treated the same as any white servant," replied Jefferson. "We have freed several in the past, but they did not leave. Those that did leave came back. Essentially they are free on all but paper and it is to protect them."

"You should abolish slavery," said Ratonhnhaké:ton.

"This country is not ready for it. Sadly, I believe it will be the cause of another war and the people are weary, Ratonhnhaké:ton. It could not be sustained."

They lapsed into silence, Jefferson's fingers itching to touch Ratonhnhaké:ton again, but fearing his right to do so had been revoked. He wanted to comfort the man, tell him yes, slavery was wrong, slavery should be abolished, that he bought slaves to give them a better life not in evaluation of how much labour he could get out of them. The freed ones enjoyed a comfortable life on his estate, working for their accommodation and meals. They were educated and clothed snugly for winter. There were no whips, and had no cruelty.

But he couldn't.

"I cannot break your relationship with your wife. You clearly adore her and it would be wrong of me-"

"No, Ratonhnhaké:ton, let me speak to her. This will not destroy us, I promise you."

***  
Martha had warmed to the idea quickly. Ratonhnhaké:ton had come around to it in the end, with words of reassurance and coaxing touches.

Thomas sighed, turning over in bed, caressing his wife's cheek as she was hugged from both sides, protected from the world, blissfully content and secure in the knowledge that the three of them were in this together until the very end.


End file.
